


Hope

by Laramie



Series: The Sunshine And The Sea [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:38:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laramie/pseuds/Laramie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a spin-off from my fic The Sunshine And The Sea, which features an autistic Jimmy dealing with Downton. That fic mentions, in passing, two housemaid OCs named Grace and Ella. This is their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that there is one use of a reclaimed slur towards the end. Feel free to message me if you need more details before you decide whether to read.

Grace was eighteen when she realised. She would later discover that this was fairly late for this sort of realisation, but, in her defence, she had been attracted to boys in the past. Until the age of eighteen - when she fell head-over-heels for the female Latin tutor who had been employed to teach the children of the house - there was nothing to suggest that she was not just a normal girl.

But Marcie. Oh, Marcie was beautiful. Perhaps not in a traditional sense: her hair was not long and blonde but red-brown, and rather unruly; her nose was not quite straight; her fingers were a little stubby; and to most potential suitors she was the wrong side of twenty-five. But there was a kindly light that shone in her eyes, and a certain delicacy in her movements that Grace found enchanting. She watched the teacher discreetly as she came and went every Tuesday and Thursday, and manufactured reasons to enter the schoolroom while they were at lessons.

Marcie had never commented on her behaviour, though she always spoke to Grace with gentleness. When the family moved to France, and Marcie was leaving for the last time, she approached Grace who sat at the table, head buried in her arms to cry. Grace looked up to see Marcie glancing around before pulling a slim book from her handbag.

"My sister is like you. I hope you will find solace here, despite my own lack of reciprocation," she said, pushing the book across the table close in to Grace's body. Grace picked up her air of secrecy and hid it in her apron pocket at once. "I… I wish you well. You are a sweet girl."

"Thank you," Grace had managed to say, feeling utterly unworthy of her name. "Goodbye, Marcie."

Up in her room, using her back as a barrier between herself and the other housemaid who shared it, Grace found that the book was a collection of six short stories about women in love - with _each other_. Realising that Marcie had known exactly how she felt, Grace experienced a mixture of shame at being so obvious to one who had not loved her back, and renewed fondness as she thought how kind it was to give her such a book.

She kept it under her pillow that night, and read it often in the last days of her employment there - the family were reducing their staff in France - and in the days that followed as she travelled to the new house which the family had arranged to give her a fair hearing. The Granthams were a family of five, but all of the daughters were grown, and it was strange to suddenly not see a bairn from one month's end to the next.

* * *

Ella always knew. There was no moment of realisation - she could not even remember her first crush. But the knowledge sat deep in her heart; she would never fall in love with a man.

She had learned to hide it: not to declare, as a five-year-old, that she would like to marry her sister's best friend; not to gaze too long at the milkman's daughter, who delivered for him sometimes; not to speak of her nature, ever. It was easy to hide her passions, sometimes, in the most innocent of bonds of friendship, but so easy too to speak a little too eagerly and cause her father or sister or whoever was listening to frown disapprovingly.

Her father was something of a drinker, and at such times he forgot to keep his voice down. Ella once heard him say: "Our lass is too grumpy to impress people of her skills as a housemaid. What Ella needs is a man, a nice boy who will inspire her to make something of herself."

No, Ella thought, what I need is a woman.

All the same, she set out with renewed vigour and within weeks had secured herself a position in a small household. She worked all the hours God sent, it seemed, and more, but she also had her first kiss in the shape of the older daughter, Julia, a beautiful woman who hid her sadness in pretty jewels and false smiles.

"I love you," she would whisper to Ella, and Ella would hold her and kiss her forehead until she fell asleep, before slipping upstairs to snatch a few scant hours of rest for herself before rising to wake the other staff and light the first fires of the day.

When Julia married and moved out, a fate unavoidable to one of her precarious social standing, Ella handed in her notice and moved on to a new house. Her parents questioned her wisdom in leaving a perfectly good position, but Ella claimed she was looking for bigger things, and promised that she would find them in her promotion at Downton Abbey. Lady Edith reminded Ella of Julia a little, and sometimes she would leave a handful of daisies by the side of the Lady's bed.

She was caught at it, a few months into her employment, by another housemaid who was three or four years older and had been at Downton Abbey more than a year longer, and so was by default and for no real reason higher in the pecking order than Ella.

"Why d'you leave her flowers?" Grace asked, as they made the bed.

Ella blushed at once, cursing her pale complexion. "'Appen she reminds me of someone," she confessed quietly, because Grace was clever and solid and had taught her how to light the fires in complete silence. "I want to bring her some small measure of happiness."

Grace watched her thoughtfully, lips pursed as she plumped up a pillow. "Well I hope she knows how lucky she was to have you," she said at last.

Ella kept her eyes on the bedclothes as she wondered whether Grace had meant it to sound so much like something that was said about couples.

It was a question that played on her mind throughout the day, and in the days following too, as she and Grace began to spend more time together when they were not working. Ella learned that Grace had a brother and a sister, six and eight years her senior, who had teased her and loved her and kissed her hurt knees when she fell; her mother had died after giving birth to Grace; her father had braided her hair and taught her to read and helped her into relative independence in service as soon as he could.

In return, Ella spoke of her own mother who kissed her forehead before she went to sleep; her red-faced father; her bonnier sister who had nearly died of cholera before marrying the vicar's son.

"I can't imagine a sister bonnier than you," Grace had replied, making both of them blush.

* * *

The new footman arrived on one otherwise unremarkable day. He was a handsome lad, with lightly tanned skin and a sweep of hair over his forehead. He had a kind of precise beauty not often seen in their dimly-lit world, even despite the aristocracy's tendency to prefer handsome footmen just to show off. Grace took a moment to enjoy his appearance, but he seemed shy, not meeting any of their eyes, and Grace preferred people who got _involved_ with life.

She glanced instinctively at Ella, despite her resolve not to hope on that front, to catch a glimpse of the girl looking not at the new footman, Jimmy, but at Grace herself. She spotted a calculating element to Ella's expression before she turned away.

Don't hope, she told herself firmly. Ella was not checking your reaction. _Don't hope._

She repeated it like a mantra over the following days, through finding a handful of daisies on her bedside table, through the anxious expression Ella would adopt when Jimmy was in the same room as the two of them. It was nothing obvious, just a tightening around the eyes and sometimes a chewing of the lip.

"What do you think of t' new footman?" Grace asked while Ella cleaned a chamberpot with a vinegar-soaked cloth. Oh, the glamour of their job.

"Bit strange, but he seems reight enough," Ella replied. "Not that I see him much."

"Only you've had a lem on ever since he arrived."

"I 'ave not!" Ella retorted.

Grace was not sure what to say to that, so they worked in silence for a minute or two.

"Mr Barrow seems quite taken with him," Ella said tentatively.

"Well, good luck to the maungy get," Grace muttered.

Ella looked at her reproachfully. "He's not so bad. I think he's afraid to show how kind he is. In case someone hurts him."

"Daft 'apeth," Grace said without malice.

"But you - you do know he's - he likes men," Ella said anxiously.

"That's not why I dislike him," Grace assured her, seizing the opportunity. "He can do as he likes and th'ain't nothing wrong wi' it."

Ella smiled. "Of course," she agreed, sounding relieved.

"Not that the law agrees," Grace added sadly.

"'T'ent always right. Any road, it only applies to men."

Grace grinned cheekily. "I thought we were only talkin' about men."

Ella blushed, and said nothing.

* * *

"I think Grace might really like me," Ella said in a hushed tone. She was speaking to Mr Barrow a few days later, having found herself in the yard beating rugs at the same time as he was there having a smoke.

"I hope you're better at reading the signs than I was," he replied dryly.

She offered a sympathetic smile before giving the rug a particularly hard thwack. "Me an' all. That were awful, Mr Barrow, I'm so sorry."

A rarely vulnerable expression took over his face. "Me own fault," he rumbled. "I hoped so much that… I suppose I started seeing what wasn't there. I just hope you get a happier ending."

Ella let the carpet beater droop in her hand, resting the point of it on the ground. "Maybe. But think on this: he defended you in the end. He could'a told everyone, anyone, but it ended up only you, him and Alfred knowin' the truth. And me, when you were panickin'."

Mr Barrow gave a small but genuine smile, beginning to regain his composure. "I knew you'd never be disgusted by me," he said, by way of explanation.

"No," Ella agreed. "I never would."

* * *

One day, Grace watched the way Ella's eyes still went straight to Lady Edith, even after two years, and the way the smile on her lips would contrast with the wistfulness in her eyes, and Grace became brave.

The two of them sat in Grace's room, sharing a cup of tea before they retired to bed and Ella had to return to the bedroom she shared with the third housemaid. Grace opened with: "Did I ever tell you about the first person I fell in love with?"

Ella blinked, and frowned very slightly. "No."

"I don't just mean the first person I liked, or was sweet on," Grace continued, because the handful of boys she had liked before Marcie were not the point of this conversation. "The first person I _loved_ was this Latin tutor they'd got in to teach the childer. Really gentle, really sweet." She hesitated for a bare second to gather her courage for the next sentence. "She was a bit like you, I suppose."

For a few seconds they stared at each other in silence, Ella looking like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a fox. "I leave Lady Edith flowers because she reminds me of the older daughter at my last house," she blurted suddenly. "I was in love with her."

For another few seconds, they just stared, before Grace fell into weak laughter, slumping onto her back on the bed.

"Don't laugh!" Ella cried.

"Oh, I'm not laughing _at_ you," Grace reassured her mildly, threading her fingers through Ella's and looking up at her fondly. "I'm just relieved. But afore I get too hopeful, do you - or could you - like me?"

The mirth twitched at Ella's lips now too. "Reckon so," she teased.

Grace grinned. "Then come down here and kiss me," she whispered, and Ella obliged.

* * *

Their relationship only strengthened in the coming months. They loved to share the few fallow hours after lunch, sitting in the sunny yard or reading books in Grace's bedroom. They hated being unable to share a chaste kiss in the servants' hall, or spend the night openly in the same bed.

Both being women afforded them a certain level of protection - it was, at least, not illegal for them to love each other - but that did not mean that they did not need to fear for what people would say or do if they knew the true nature of their relationship.

"It's a hard thing to deal with," Mr Barrow said one day, when the two of them found themselves in the servants' hall with him alone.

Grace twisted her lips, but gave a grudging nod.

"You seem to be managing, though," he added, addressing the remark mostly to Ella.

She smiled at Grace fondly. "We are," she agreed. "You and Jimmy seem better nowadays, too."

Mr Barrow smiled at the table, no less fondly but with rather more sadness. "Yes." He cast a quick glance at Grace, who did not know the story of his kissing Jimmy in the night but who luckily did not really care to know anything about Mr Barrow. "We're friends now."

"I'm reight glad to hear it," Ella said, and she was, her own giddy love making her wish for everyone else's happiness too. Because she did love Grace, flaws and all, from her gleeful cackle when a letter arrived from one of her siblings to her terrible habit of making snap and unchangeable judgements about people's character.

Her happiness was soon to be challenged, however, by the contents of a letter which arrived one Tuesday morning in early autumn. The letter which told of her father's death.

Ella was not sure what to think. She had loved her father dearly, of course, but feared him too. The funeral was to be the coming Monday, which was, by some miracle, her day off that month. Her thoughts oscillated between 'thank god he's gone' and 'what do I do now?' He had loved her, she knew, but only some of her. He had made her ashamed of herself. She half-wanted to tell someone of his death, half-wanted to keep it to herself. Mrs Hughes would be too generically sympathetic. Grace would say implacably that she was better off without the bastard. Anna would never understand her conflicted feelings for the man, given that Ella could never explain.

She realised that probably only Mr Barrow would understand the contradictory feelings that stemmed from loving someone who refused to know you wholly. From the handful of words she had heard on the topic of Mr Barrow's family, he seemed to feel much the same about them.

"Mr Barrow," she said, addressing him in the anonymity afforded by the rush of people leaving luncheon. "Could I talk to you for a moment?"

"If you like," he said indifferently. "Yard?" he suggested, pulling out his packet of cigarettes.

Ella nodded and followed him out. Mr Barrow smoked in silence as he waited for her to speak.

"It's my dad," she said at last. "He's... he died."

"I'm sorry to hear it. Did you get on with him?"

"Sort of," Ella replied, and Mr Barrow just nodded.

"When's the funeral?" he asked after a moment.

"Next Monday. It's my day off. I don't know if I want to go."

"Even if you don't want to go for his sake, it's a chance to see the rest of your family."

"Yes…"

"Jimmy wants to take Ivy to a dance next Monday. Carson and Mrs Hughes will never let them go on their own. I can have a word if you like, ask them to let you and Grace go. At least you'd have something to look forward to."

Ella hugged herself. "All right. Thank you."

"You'll be all right," Mr Barrow said.

* * *

Grace thought of Ella all day, imagining where she would be on her journey. She was torn between worrying whether she was all right and looking forward to their dance that evening. Hopefully Ella would still want to go. They had not really done much proper courting; there was precious little opportunity.

As she cleaned the china after lunch, Grace thought back to the picnic they had had in the grounds one early-autumn afternoon. Grace had persuaded Mrs Patmore to make them a few cheese sarnies and they had picked an apple each. It had been cloudy and, honestly, a little too cool for a picnic, but they had giggled together and laid out on the blanket to look at the bright grey sky and Ella had kissed her until she could hardly breathe.

Her lover arrived home a little after seven that evening, though Grace did not manage to have any kind of conversation with her until they all sat down to supper.

"How did it go?" she asked quietly.

"Not so bad," Ella replied. "I'm glad to be home, though," she added, curling her fingers into Grace's.

"And we'll have fun tonight, won't we?" Grace prompted, hoping to prod Ella out of her melancholy, and was rewarded with a small smile.

"Yes. I haven't been to a dance in years."

"Then I'm glad and slightly worried to be the one to take you. Don't tread on my foot."

"Hmm, _you're_ taking _me_ , are you?"

"Of course. I am the older, prettier one," she teased.

"I'm not sure being _older_ is something to boast about," Ella retorted, then grimaced slightly, and Grace guessed that she was thinking of her father again, and the way one's age became more something to celebrate with every passing year.

Grace squeezed her fingers, and they both turned their attention to their plates.

"I'm going to make you really enjoy yourself tonight," Grace promised later, as they boarded the bus.

"I don't think that's something you can force on a person," Ella said, but she was smiling, so Grace counted it as a success so far.

"I am your superior," she said haughtily. "I _order_ you to have fun."

"Yer a reight get," Ella chuckled.

"But I'm yours," Grace smirked.

Ella shook her head fondly. "Yer a reight _soppy_ get, an' all."

"You love it."

They continued in this way until they had reached their stop. "Come on, love," Grace said, holding out her hand for Ella's.

They followed Ivy and Jimmy off the bus and a few steps down the street; the hall was not far. "I wish they didn't have to come," Grace grumbled, eyeing their fellow staff distastefully.

"If they hadn't, _we_ couldn't," Ella reminded her.

"I know, I know, it's just… We know them. I don't want to be looking over my shoulder."

"I know, G," Ella said as they stumped up their entrance fee. She grinned. "There's nothing to say we have to stay with them, though," she pointed out, tugging Grace away by the arm.

"I like your style."

"You won't like my dancing," Ella countered, and set about proving herself right. Ella was _not_ a natural dancer. Her toes seemed magnetically attracted to Grace's ankles.

"Maybe we should stop for a drink," Grace suggested, grimacing.

"Could do with some scran," Ella said as they approached the table. "But on the whole I'd rather 'ave some punch."

On the whole, in fact, they had rather too much punch for two people who consumed alcohol about twice a decade. It was fun, though; it made everything hilarious, from their inability to walk in a straight line to the interesting moustache on a tall, top-hatted gentleman who twitched it at them disapprovingly.

Ivy found them in the crowd, hours later, and they all left together.

"At least we won't be bothered by any men like this," Grace managed through her laughter. "They'll all disapprove far too much to try their luck."

As they walked across the grounds to the house, just ahead of Ivy and Jimmy, they leaned on each other for balance. "I don't want to go to bed yet," Ella said sleepily.

"We can go in the servants' hall. It'll be quiet this time o' night."

"Alright," she agreed, and they did so, only to see Mr Barrow sitting there with a cigarette.

Grace ground to a stop, not wanting their good mood to be broken by the mardy under-butler.

But Ella said mildly, "Mind if we come in, Mr Barrow?" and he actually _smiled_.

"Not at all. Did you have a good night?" he added as they entered the room and sat down.

"Brilliant," Ella enthused, turning to smile at Grace.

Mr Barrow glanced between them and chuckled. "Look at us," he snorted. "Home for retired queers."

"I'm not retired," Grace slurred, and rocked forward to plant a kiss on Ella's cheek.

But Ella tensed, and Grace looked round to see Jimmy, and she was not sure which of them moved first but suddenly she and Ella were leaving the room in a rush.

A few steps up the stairs, Ella slipped her fingers around Grace's elbow to slow her. "We don't need to worry," she said. "Jimmy already knows about Mr Barrow, and he doesn't mind."

Grace closed her eyes and covered them with a hand. "Thank God," she murmured. "I supposed we should be more careful," she added with a grimace.

"Never mind," Ella said, as they resumed their climb. "He won't tell. Mr Barrow certainly won't. So why don't we just go upstairs and you can prove you're not old and grey." She grinned cheekily.

"Oh, Ella Braithwaite," Grace said. "You'll pay for that, darling."


End file.
